


Apple Scented Wax

by hurstandbarn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23756149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurstandbarn/pseuds/hurstandbarn
Summary: Healer Hermione Granger has a new coworker, fresh from relief aid in Africa. Ordinarily they'd get on like a house on fire, but this one could be a little tricky to mesh with; until a case comes along that the new guy might be the perfect assist for. Rated M for language; all locations and characters belong to J.K. Rowling
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	1. The Stranger

Green apples had always been Hermione’s favourite.

There was a large apple tree at her parents’ house, left there from when the garden used to be an orchard. In the autumn, she and her dad would go out in their gardening gloves with boxes and nets on poles to bring in the harvest that hadn’t fallen into the grass over the growing season. Even after Hermione had finished Hogwarts, opting into the NEWT replacement scheme so that she could start out at work straight away, she’d gone home and picked the apples with her dad the proper way; the muggle way.

Her parents had understood and forgiven her for her actions during the war; once she’d restored their old memories they’d kept their new ones too, and they’d enjoyed their time away. Still, her father had told her, it was good to be home. After the day’s harvest they’d store the apples in the garage on pallets and the following day Jean and Hermione would sit at the table and chat about nothing and everything, peeling and cutting the apples for storage and baking. Since she was a child, Hermione had always eaten the skins that her mother had cut off, ready for disposal. She would eat as many as she could before her eyes scrunched shut and her tongue burned from the sourness. Jean and Thomas would laugh, as they did even now.

This year, the night was drawing in and the two ladies had managed to get through almost all of the apples. Hermione was finishing off the last few before a nightcap and a floo home to bed—having given up eating the skins before dinner—when there came a tapping at the window. She stood, stretching, and crossed the room to let the owl in, who she recognised as one of the Ministry’s messengers.

_Hermione,_

_If it’s convenient, may I see you in your office at nine o’clock tomorrow morning? It’s something of an urgent matter, but I have no desire to interrupt your weekend. I know you’re already reaching for the floo powder but really, I don’t want to interrupt. In fact, I shall be irked should you do so._

_I look forward to seeing you tomorrow._

_All the best,_

_Kingsley_

Hermione chuckled to the perched owl. Kingsley was right, her first instinct was to floo him and check that she couldn’t do anything to help him before their meeting, but he had said it could wait, so wait it would. She offered the owl her arm and carried him carefully over to where her own owl, Archimedes, was sat. She scrawled a quick note in reply while the Ministry owl fuelled up on some nuts.

_Kingsley,_

_It hurts that you know me so well. Nine o’clock is fine, of course! I’ll see you then._

_Much love,_

_Hermione_

Attaching the small scroll to the owl’s leg, she opened the window so it could leave when it was ready.

“All good, love?” Thomas asked from the corner, looking up from his paper.

“All good, Dad,” she smiled. “Just some prep for tomorrow.”

“Do you have enough food at home, dear?”

“I do, Mum, don’t worry.”

“Remember to take some apples, won’t you?”

“I will, Mum,” Hermione laughed as Jean grabbed her hands and started to dance the two of them around the kitchen to the radio. Some old 90s tune was playing and they seemed to fly over the tiles as Thomas chuckled at them.

“So, what’s big? What’s the plan tomorrow?” Jean called over the music.

“I’m not sure yet, so far a meeting with Kings first thing.”

“Oh, do say hello!” Jean exclaimed as the song ended and the dancing slowed to a stop.

“I will,” Hermione smiled. Her parents had met Kingsley on several occasions since the war and they got on like a proverbial house on fire. “I know he’ll say hello back, but I’ll floo you afterwards anyway.”

“Alright love,” Jean said happily. “When do you have to head off?”

“Trying to get rid of me already?” Hermione teased.

“Of course not!” laughed Jean.

“Probably pretty soon actually. Thanks for this weekend,” she said, sighing.

“You’re always welcome love,” Thomas replied, giving her a one-armed hug.

“Thanks Dad,” Hermione smiled up at him.

“Especially,” her mother continued, “If you bring a _man_ home.”

“Mum!” squeaked Hermione.

“Or a woman!” Jean added, holding up her hands in surrender.

“I don’t think that’s what she meant, love,” Thomas interjected, laughing.

“No, it is _not_ ,” Hermione agreed, disgruntled. “Although good to know, I suppose. Well,” she started, suddenly business-like, “I will see you both soon. Thanks for dinner!”

“Anytime darl,” Jean smiled as Thomas put his arm around her and their daughter stepped into the fireplace. Hermione waved as green, glowing fire sprouted up around her for a moment before she was gone.

“A cup of tea, love?” Thomas asked.

“Please,” Jean answered, kissing him in thanks.

* * *

Hermione had just unloaded the boxes from the harvest into her freezer before her proximity spells went off, followed by a knock at the door just moments later.

Casting a sonorous charm, she called out. “I’ll be right there.”

She clutched her wand as she crossed her flat to the front door, but nearly dropped it in surprise as she peered through the peephole

“Granger?” came an eerily familiar voice through the door. She wrenched it open, still mildly shellshocked.

“Malfoy?”


	2. The Request

“Hello, Granger.”

Draco Malfoy’s sneer seemed to precede everything he said, blanketing the air around him in a frosty chill. _It might account for why his hair is so white_ , Hermione thought in a slight daze.

“Granger?” Malfoy asked, waving his hand in front of her face. “Lovestruck already?”

Hermione snorted, snapping herself out of it. “You wish, ass. What do you want?”

“What a loaded question,” he replied, a smirk drawing itself over his features. Hermione glared. “Fine,” he conceded. “I just wanted to drop round and say hi before our meeting tomorrow so that you don’t freak out—like you just did.”

“Our meeting?” Hermione asked, surprised. She hadn’t seen or heard from Malfoy since the Ministry pardoned him after the war. Since the trial, he’d seemingly disppeared—or so she’d thought. She hadn’t been aware of any meeting between them, other than this weird encounter.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated slowly. “At nine?”

“No, no, I already have a meeting at nine with—” she trailed off. _Oh_.

“Kingsley,” he finished, almost courteous.

“Damn,” she said, dejectedly. “Well, do you want to—come in…?”

 _Please say no._ Please _say no._

“Sure,” he breezed, pushing gently past her into the hallway.

_Fuck._

“Tea?”

 _Stop offering him a reason to stay_.

“As long as you don’t poison it,” he answered automatically, a mildly pernicious edge to his tone.

 _I might_ , Hermione thought, closing the door softly behind him.

“So is there anything I need to know before tomorrow?” she asked, flicking her wand at the teapot before levitating it onto her coffee table.

“Without giving too many spoilers, I just wanted to promise that I’m not who I used to be.”

“Who you used to be?” Hermione repeated, her eyes fixed on him over the rim of her cup.

Malfoy raised his own mug in thanks, taking a sip before answering.

“The boy you knew at Hogwarts, he’s not who I am anymore. I’ve—”

“—changed?” Hermione finished, an eyebrow raised. “I heard this at the trial, Malfoy. I know the story you weave around yourself to try and make what you did okay. Maybe there is hope for you but I’d need to see proof, actual _evidence_. Until there is some, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.”

A silence seemed to permeate the air between them and Hermione looked down into her cup to avoid looking at him anymore. It was only broken as he carefully set his mug onto the glass tabletop and stood, collecting his jacket from the arm of the sofa on his way to the hallway. He turned before he left, fixing her with a cool gaze.

“I hope I _can_ give you some proof,” he said. His voice was low and gruff, as though holding back tears, but he was gone before Hermione could look up. The door closed behind him with a firm thud and left her alone with her evening of painful memories.

* * *

The scar on her arm seemed to sting even as Hermione got ready the following morning. Seeing Malfoy had turned her usual dreams into nightmares hosted at the Manor he called home, and that didn’t bode well for the quality of the day ahead. By the time she’d dragged herself into her office at St. Mungo’s, however, there was already too much on her plate to focus much on any pain. A couple of minutes after settling herself into her desk chair, her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she called, looking up.

“Good morning, Hermione,” Kingsley beamed as he manoeuvred his way into the office bearing three takeaway coffee cups. “For you,” he added, setting them on the desk as he sat and pushing one towards her. Hermione smiled gratefully at him and took it, noticing the conspicuous presence of the third cup.

“Good morning. My parents say hello, by the way.”

He smiled brightly at that and inclined his head. “Give them the very best of regards for me.”

Hermione smiled. “I will. Also, I assume _that_ —,” she nodded to the extra, “—is for Mr. Malfoy?”

Her comment gave him pause for a moment to observe her, surprised.

“I assume he’s been to see you then?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she sighed, unable to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. “But he told me very little before his past seemed to catch up with him—with both of us, really.”

“Ah,” the Minister nodded slowly, aware that both of them were acutely—and surreptitiously—focused on Hermione’s arm.

“Nonetheless, I’m intrigued. I, for one, was not missing him. I assume this meeting is why he’s back?”

“It has to do with it, yes,” Kingsley affirmed.

“Right.”

Hermione could tell that Kingsley was waiting for Malfoy to arrive before saying any more, so she held her tongue and sipped her coffee. A moment or so later, another knock burst the companionable silence.

“Come in,” she called again, mentally bracing herself.

Sure enough, Draco Malfoy entered the office. Hermione was almost certain he had brought another chill in with him again. Kingsley, feeling no such coldness, stood to shake his hand and offer him a chair. Malfoy smiled his charming smile and sat next to the Minister as though this was the most natural place for him to be.

“Malfoy.”

“Granger.”

“Well then,” Kingsley started with a smile. “Now that we’re all amicably reacquainted, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

They both nodded.

“So,” the Minister turned to Hermione with an efficient air. “Healer Granger, Mr. Malfoy here is requesting to join your unit.”

Hermione stared at him, speechless and mildly incensed.

“I am seconding his request,” he added, his smile turning somewhat apologetic.

There was a swamping silence as Hermione processed what he’d asked her.

“Why?”

“Why?” Kingsley repeated, gently. He could sense Draco smirking next to him and he desperately wished he would stop.

“Why is he joining _my_ team?”

“Mr. Malfoy dropped off the radar because he was in private healer training, then consequently moved overseas to Africa for a relief mission. Now he’s back to—put down roots, you said?” Kingsley inquired.

Malfoy nodded. “My mother needs me here now more than ever but I’ll be living in London. Being in England is enough but I can’t leave her again. The strain of being without _my father_ is too much for her.”

The way he said _my father_ caught Hermione’s attention. There was a sneer on his face but it didn’t seem to be directed at her, nor at Kingsley.

“And you want to be on my team because…?”

He looked at her, and this time the clarity of his gaze seemed to wind her a little. “Because you’re the best diagnostician in the country, and I want to help while I’m here. _Actually_ help.”

“You’re trying to make up for what you used to be,” she breathed, her voice quiet. Since that look he had felt like the only person in the room.

Malfoy’s cheeks grew a little pink as he looked down at his hands. “You wanted proof.”


	3. The Advice

The rest of the day seemed to vanish. Hermione had bade farewell to Kingsley and Malfoy—providing the latter with a second meeting on Wednesday—and had consequently slipped into a series of rounds, patients and test results. Within what felt like seconds, she had apparated home to her cosy flat and immediately flicked her wand at the fireplace in the living room. An unexpected chill had been in the air during the day and Hermione was eager to be rid of it and soaking in the fire’s warmth.

Settling herself comfortably on the sofa next to the fire, she cast a quick summoning charm on a bottle and glass and set about pouring the maroon wine. Letting out a large sigh, she relaxed back into the cushions, watching the two figures in the landscape above the mantlepiece play around on the deck of a large steam ship. She’d got the painting as a work perk; she had a second in her office and often used it to check on patients or staff when there was a potential problem. Catching sight of Hermione’s face, Zelda—an effortlessly beautiful young woman—looked back at her and smiled kindly.

“I’m sure it will turn out alright,” she said, approaching the frame to better converse with Hermione. “He seems like a nice man.”

“You would think that,” Hermione snorted, mildly indignant. In her experience, Zelda had an unfortunate habit of believing the best in people, even when they didn’t deserve it.

“Yes, I would,” Zelda replied, examining the woman in front of her shrewdly. She had seen many doctors in Hermione’s position come and go, and Hermione was—in her opinion, at least—not only the kindest but the most gifted she’d seen. If Hermione was a little stubborn over this man, he meant something to her—whether good or bad, though, she couldn’t tell.

“If it helps,” Jacob chimed in, “I think he has promise.”

Zelda’s husband Jacob—although they’d been painted when they were still engaged—was a tall, handsome English man with dark eyes and blonde hair. He had married his American wife when they finished their healer training and together they’d taken the magi-medical world by storm with their curse-curing breakthroughs. However annoying their optimistic opinions could be, they carried a lot of well-earned respect, and Hermione would always take—but not always follow—their suggestions seriously, especially at work.

“Thanks, Jacob,” Hermione responded, trying not to lash out too far. “He’s just a pig. Also an attempted murderer and a traitor.”

“Ah,” Jacob said awkwardly, feeling the need to contribute. He looked desperately at his wife for assistance, who shoved him gently.

“Is he the one who hurt you?” she asked softly, her words barely audible over the crackling of the fire. Hermione’s gaze was drawn up from the flames to Zelda’s face at that, an indecipherable expression set into her features.

“No,” she replied quietly. “But he was there.”

Zelda nodded as though she could understand. “I see. That’s why you hate him most?”

It took Hermione a moment, but as her eyes returned to the fire, brimming with tears, she nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Well,” Zelda started slowly, giving Hermione time to feel. “You can’t hold him accountable for someone else’s crimes. What happened to you was awful, don’t get me wrong, but have you talked to him about it? Heard his side of the story?”

“No,” Hermione answered, almost coldly.

“He does deserve a chance though, no?” Zelda pushed, still with a tenderness to her voice.

“Why?” Hermione demanded, staring incredulously at the woman’s small face again.

Zelda smiled her gentle smile again. “You haven’t heard his explanation yet. Until you’ve done that, you can’t pass a judgement on him, not properly. I think you know that, otherwise you wouldn’t have given him another appointment. I know this new job of his is going to make things harder, but maybe over time he’ll prove himself worthy of your trust. And speaking of people you trust,” she continued, winding an arm around Jacob’s waist. “Kingsley trusts him, even knowing what he’s done. Why don’t you just give him a chance? He says he’s changed, so let him show you.”

Hermione pondered the painting’s words as the firelight danced over her, washing her with warmth. Soon, though, she rose, setting her glass on the table and pointing at the couple in the painting.

“One chance. He gets _one_ chance.”

“I think he’ll surprise you,” Zelda called happily as Hermione stretched and strolled into the kitchen, humming her doubt in response.

* * *

“ _MALFOY?”_

“Ron, please.”

Ron Weasley had not taken the news as well as Zelda and Jacob. He had, however, stormed into Hermione’s office the next morning and demanded answers; Hermione had immediately sent a patronus to Harry to tell him that Ron was rampaging.

“I get told in a lift, _a lift_ , by the way,” Ron raved. “That Dirtbag Malfoy is getting a job here. In _your_ division!”

“Quite possibly, Ronald,” Hermione sighed. She could sate him herself but quite frankly she didn’t have the will or the energy.

“And to hear about it through _Digby?_ With his smug little face? What the _FUCK?”_

“Indeed,” Hermione agreed absentmindedly, beginning to sort patient charts for her rounds.

“Not from my _girlfriend?”_ Ron continued, almost to himself now.

“My apologies, dear,” she replied, mildly.

She was genuinely concerned for how this whole situation would play out, but she had been going to tell both Harry and Ron about her new starter once it was actually confirmed. Until then, she would let Harry deal with Ron, at least up until Malfoy’s position was confirmed. Then, she would rant and rave with Ron, but right now she had patients to deal with, and she needed a coffee.

“With whom he will be working on a _daily basis_ ,” Ron was now incensed so far as to be oblivious. “And—”

Sighing, Hermione flicked her wand at him. He kept ranting, but now he was the only person who could hear it. Moments later, a knock at the door announced Harry’s arrival.

“Morning, Hermione. I thought you said Ron was in— _oh._ ”

It wasn’t the first time that either of them had used this method of placation, and Ron never seemed to mind afterwards, given that his anger was usually so strong he didn’t remember people blanking him.

“I’ll get him out of here,” Harry promised, ushering a now gesticulating Ron out the door. “I know buddy, but we’ll have it all out in my office, not Hermione’s. I’m sure there are reasons for everything. Hey,” he turned back to Hermione at the last moment. “The whole story soon?”

“Of course. Once everything’s finalised I’ll tell you everything, as had been my _original_ plan,” she glared at Ron. “But rest assured, I’m none too happy about it myself.”

“I can only imagine. Well, good luck,” Harry grinned. “Enjoy running Malfoy-rehab!”

“Yeah, yeah, get out,” she smiled, laughing as he ducked to avoid the paper ball she’d thrown at him.


	4. The Patient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is no overly graphic description of injury, but this chapter does feature a victim of a curse (of the melting/burning variety). If you want to skip this chapter, I'll put an injury-free recap at the beginning of the next chapter!

After Ron’s outburst in her office, Tuesday seemed to melt into Wednesday and before she knew it, there was another knock on Hermione’s office door.

“Come in,” she called, setting down her papers.

“Good morning,” Malfoy greeted her cordially.

“Oh, morning,” Hermione replied. She’d almost forgotten what day it was, but here he was nonetheless. “Can you give me a moment just to finish this?”

He nodded, placing a takeaway cup on her desk. “Yeah, of course. Take your time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Zelda and Jacob trying not to draw attention to themselves as they watched, eyes wide. A few moments later, she looked up properly and saw the cup, and the man behind it.

“There. Thanks for waiting, and for what I assume is—” she trailed off, smelling it. “Coffee.” 

Despite herself, she smiled her appreciation. Malfoy returned it equally as hesitantly, but seemed to relax in his chair a little more.

“So, I know Kingsley wants me to accept you straight away with open arms and usually I’d like to, especially from him. I’m not normally one to prejudice, but—”

“There’s a lot more than personal rivalry behind this particular partnership,” he finished awkwardly.

“Well, yes,” she agreed, cradling her cup a little closer.

“I just want to apologise. I know I probably should have done it on Sunday evening but as soon as I turned up I felt that being there was bad enough.”

“Apologise?” Hermione asked lightly, feigning a sudden interest in swilling the contents of her cup around.

“Yes, Granger,” he sighed, unable to help rolling his eyes before catching himself. “I mean, yes. I know I can’t make up for what I did, or didn’t do, that day. If it’s any consolation—and I know it probably isn’t—I have nightmares of it too.”

“Oh, you poor soul,” she cooed mockingly, snapping her gaze to his.

“I know,” he backtracked rapidly. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this. I did it at the trial and then ran away. Even then, it wasn’t a great apology. I know I can’t make up for what I did, but I’m trying.”

There was a strange, stuttering silence before Hermione sighed and spoke again.

“I can’t hold you accountable for someone else’s crimes,” she quoted, knowing that from the portrait, Zelda would be beaming. “Even though I really, really want to. And it’s going to be _very_ fucking difficult to get past, especially at first.”

A small smile was creeping ever-so-slowly over Malfoy’s face. “I know… but do you think we can?”

Hermione sighed again, but before she could answer, her office door was knocked on and flung open.

“Healer Granger, there’s an emergency case,” started a young nurse. “I’m sorry,” she said to Malfoy.

Hermione nodded and in one fluid, well-practised move, stood and threw on her white coat.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy; this does happen rather a lot,” she grimaced in apology, already halfway to the door.

“Let me help,” he responded immediately, standing.

She assessed him quickly and nodded to a hook on the door holding spare coat. “Alright. Follow me.”

The nurse caught them up on the situation as she led them swiftly through the corridors to a large wing labelled in large letters as the Emergency Response Wing.

“There was a cursed object in a house being cleared by muggles. It didn’t go nearly as well as you’re hoping,” she added, pulling a curtain back to let Hermione and Malfoy through, following neatly after them and closing the curtains again to seal the silencing charm around them.

“Have we told Accidents and Catastrophes?” Hermione asked, unphased by the patient’s melting face.

“They brought him in. Their charms caught the incident and they’re doing what they can to identify the object now,” the nurse supplied.

Hermione nodded, casting a cooling charm over the patient. His whimpering subsided for a moment and he tried to focus on her.

“Hello,” she addressed him gently, kneeling down beside the bed. “This is all a bit much, huh?”

The patient nodded, closing their eyes as best they could.

“You’re going to see, hear and feel a lot of things that aren’t going to make sense, and I’m going to ask you to bear with me on that. My name is Dr. Granger, this is Dr. Malfoy, and we’re going to try and work out what’s causing all of this, okay?”

He nodded again, letting his tears slide onto the pillow.

“Alright. We’re going to run some tests, but in the meantime let’s try and make you more comfortable,” she said, standing back up.

Malfoy, unable to look away, made his way over to the nurse and spoke quietly.

“Do you know what kind of object it was?”

“I think it was some kind of gemstone. Accidents and Catastrophes are studying it now; I daresay it will be Healer Granger’s next visit.”

Malfoy nodded in thanks, but spoke again as it fully registered what Hermione was doing. Since he’d started talking to the nurse, she’d been weaving a very difficult-looking spell over the patient’s whole body, as though interlocking several figures-of-eight.

“What spell is she doing?”

“I honestly have no idea. She studies old, old magic that we don’t get taught anymore because we have easier, more efficient methods now. In situations like these, though, we’re grateful she’s with us.”

“I can see why,” he agreed, falling silent to watch her work.

A minute or so later, the patient seemed to have fallen asleep and Hermione ushered them out through the curtains and back into the emergency melee.

“I’d like him moved to Diagnosis,” she instructed the nurse, who nodded. “I’ll need to repeat that spell every two hours too, so once he’s moved can you let them know to find me?”

“Of course, Healer. Anything else I can do?”

“Oh! Add a note to keep him cool. A fresh spell every half hour or so should do the trick; I think that’s everything. Thank you,” she finished, smiling at the nurse.

“That was amazing,” Malfoy almost gushed the moment they’d left the ERW. “What did you do to him back there?”

Hermione smiled wryly at him, her eyes sad.

“I just wish there was more I could do straight away. That charm essentially halted the effects of the curse, but without specialised treatment there’s no telling how long it will hold. As I said, it needs to be refreshed every so often as it is, but if the curse learns its way around the spell it won’t be effective for too long.”

“So we need to hurry?” he suggested, maintaining a brisk walk to keep up with her.

“Exactly. Oh, and Malfoy?”

“Yes?”

“Welcome to the team.”


	5. The Ministry

Previously...

"There's a lot more than personal rivalry behind this particular partnership," he finished awkwardly.

"Well, yes," she agreed, cradling her cup a little closer.

"I just want to apologise. I know I probably should have done it on Sunday evening but as soon as I turned up I felt that being there was bad enough."

"Apologise?" Hermione asked lightly, feigning a sudden interest in swilling the contents of her cup around.

"Yes, Granger," he sighed, unable to help rolling his eyes before catching himself. "I mean, yes. I know I can't make up for what I did, or didn't do, that day. If it's any consolation—and I know it probably isn't—I have nightmares of it too."

…

"I can't hold you accountable for someone else's crimes," she quoted, knowing that from the portrait, Zelda would be beaming. "Even though I really, really want to. And it's going to be _very_ fucking difficult to get past, especially at first."

A small smile was creeping ever-so-slowly over Malfoy's face. "I know… but do you think we can?"

Hermione sighed again, but before she could answer, her office door was knocked on and flung open.

"Healer Granger, there's an emergency case," started a young nurse. "I'm sorry," she said to Malfoy.

…

"Let me help," he responded immediately, standing.

She assessed him quickly and nodded to a hook on the door holding spare coat. "Alright. Follow me."

The nurse caught them up on the situation as she led them swiftly through the corridors to a large wing labelled in large letters as the Emergency Response Wing.

"There was a cursed object in a house being cleared by muggles. It didn't go nearly as well as you're hoping," she added, pulling a curtain back to let Hermione and Malfoy through, following neatly after them and closing the curtains again to seal the silencing charm around them.

…

"Do you know what kind of object it was?"

"I think it was some kind of gemstone. Accidents and Catastrophes are studying it now; I daresay it will be Healer Granger's next visit."

Malfoy nodded in thanks, but spoke again as it fully registered what Hermione was doing. Since he'd started talking to the nurse, she'd been weaving a very difficult-looking spell over the patient's whole body, as though interlocking several figures-of-eight.

"What spell is she doing?"

"I honestly have no idea. She studies old, old magic that we don't get taught anymore because we have easier, more efficient methods now. In situations like these, though, we're grateful she's with us."

"I can see why," he agreed, falling silent to watch her work.

…

"I just wish there was more I could do straight away. That charm essentially halted the effects of the curse, but without specialised treatment there's no telling how long it will hold. As I said, it needs to be refreshed every so often as it is, but if the curse learns its way around the spell it won't be effective for too long."

"So we need to hurry?" he suggested, maintaining a brisk walk to keep up with her.

"Exactly. Oh, and Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"Welcome to the team."

* * *

Hermione and Malfoy had flooed to the Ministry and found an empty lift waiting in the foyer. To Hermione's awkward delight, Harry had stepped in right after them.

"Hermione! Malfoy," he greeted them, not sounding surprised at Malfoy's presence but raising his eyebrows at her nonetheless.

"Morning, Harry," she answered, keeping her voice light.

"Hello," Malfoy added from behind them. Harry nodded courteously but didn't turn around as the lift began to rattle upwards.

_Level Seven: Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office._

The cool, disembodied voice interrupted the quiet, and Hermione turned to Harry.

"Did you manage to knock some sense into Ron?"

Harry pulled a gloomy face as Malfoy did his utmost not to speak, even though the temptation to ask after potential trouble in paradise was incredibly strong.

_Level Six: Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparition Test Centre._

"He's still pretty… fired up about it all. Especially your… role in it?" Harry replied, trying his best to be discreet, which Hermione appreciated.

Malfoy held his tongue.

_Level Five: Department of International Magical Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, The International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards (British Seats)._

There was a pause as Hermione closed her mouth and turned back to face the lift doors.

"I was going to tell him, you know that," she protested suddenly.

"I know," he responded serenely, surveying her.

_Level Four: Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and Pest Advisory Bureau._

"I was, Harry," she repeated.

"I know! You've told me three times now, and I'm not the one who needs convincing."

"Oh, is it absolutely awful of me?" she appealed.

_Level Three: Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee._

"He'll come around," Harry assured her as she and Malfoy stepped out of the lift.

He caught a glance of her worried face before the doors rumbled shut once again and the lift continued upward. Ron _would_ eventually come around, he reasoned to himself, but whether the pillock would find the time to do so before he ended up alone would only be time's decision. This latest outburst was not his first and would doubtless be his last; he could see that Hermione was beginning to tire of his childish tantrums.

On Level Three, Hermione and Malfoy had found the St. Mungo's liaison officer, Thrumpton, sat in his office poring over some dusty-looking books, piled neatly into stacks on the desk in front of him.

"Good morning, Elias!" Hermione called cheerily as she knocked.

"Hmm?" Thrumpton was startled out of his reading trance and looked up. "Ah! Hermione, my apologies. All of this is so fascinating I've completely lost track of time. Here, allow me—"

Elias shrank the stacks and banished them to the top drawer of his desk, gesturing to his guests to sit.

"And you've brought a… colleague?" he enquired, looking between Hermione and the pale man beside her.

Hermione nodded. "Of course, I should have written ahead but under the circumstances, time is of the essence. This is my new team member, Healer Draco Malfoy."

Malfoy stood to extend his hand over the desk properly, but at the mention of his name, Elias seemed to have turned white.

"Malfoy?" he stuttered, shaking the proffered hand so weakly he might have been damp seaweed.

"Yes, Sir," Malfoy affirmed. "I know my family are not… of the best standing in the magical community," he continued hastily, observing Elias' faint and subconscious grimace. "And believe me, I'm fully aware of how much work I have to put in to prove my worth, and I'm happy to. I can't speak for my parents, but I want to make a difference. A _better_ difference," he finished, looking so sincere that some of the colour appeared back in the officer's cheeks.

"Well," Elias started, unsure of how to proceed, but tried to smile through his words nonetheless. "I'm sure we'll get along swimmingly… in our bright future."

"Healer Malfoy will be accompanying me on my duties for a while so that he can get the feel of things," Hermione put in calmly. "The Minister is especially excited about his appointment," she pressed.

"Ah! Of course. Well, then," Elias flustered about, searching for his original topic and failing dismally.

"The object that caused my patient's injuries," she prompted gently.

"Yes! That was what I was researching upon your arrival; it seems that the item in question is quite notorious."

"Notorious? Does it have a name? A history of ownership?" Malfoy asked, unable to stop himself.

He caught Hermione's eye but he couldn't determine the look on her face, it could have been anything from approval to reproach.

"It's commonly referred to as the Delhi Purple Sapphire," Elias replied.

He opened his desk drawer back up and summoned one of the tiny books into his hand before closing it again. He enlarged it back to its normal size and pointed his wand at the cover, causing the pages to flutter backwards and forwards until it came to rest about a third of the way through. Malfoy whistled before he'd even found the page, casting a disquieted eye over the large illustration in the book levitating steadily in front of them.

"It's beautiful," Hermione breathed, leaning forward to take a better look.

She wasn't wrong; the stone in question was an oval cut purple gemstone, illustrated both mounted in a broach and separated by itself.

"From what I can tell—although Healer Malfoy may be able to tell us more based on his reaction—it used to be used as jewellery but was taken out of its original setting when it was rediscovered.

"Rediscovered?"

"It was said to have been stolen from the muggle Natural History Museum several years ago," Malfoy started as Elias nodded along, closing the book and returning it to his desk with a flick of his wand.

"Where is it now?" Hermione asked. "I assume it was seized from the scene of the incident?"

Elias nodded. "The Unspeakables currently have it for assessment and storage until we can work out what curses have been placed upon it, but they've said to let them know when you want to see it. If you'll follow me, I'll take you there myself." He gestured to the door with one hand and cast a silvery pine marten patronus with the other, which raced off ahead of them.

They followed him from the room and re-entered the golden-shuttered lift, plummeting down to Level Nine; to the Department of Mysteries.


	6. The Replay

"Mr. Thrumpton, Miss Granger," a tall, blank-faced man greeted them straight from the lift. "And Mr. Malfoy, I see," he added, letting no hint of his feelings through his stoic expression.

"Mr. Hornwood, thank you for your time. What can you tell us?" Hermione asked, jumping into her questions. She strode authoritatively beside the Unspeakable as he lead them down a warren of passageways, leaving Malfoy and Elias trailing somewhat behind.

"Not too much that would help you yet, I suspect. The usual curses, jinxes and hexes that your healers will have made quick work of reversing the effects of, but the main bulk of the mystery is still just that. Nothing that can explain anything close to what your patient has experienced, I suspect. Can you go over their symptoms for clarity?"

"Well, the main one would be that his flesh seems to be melting off his skeleton. At any rate this is alarming, but before I halted it it seemed to be accelerating gradually."

"You managed to halt the effects? How?" Hornwood interrupted swiftly.

Hermione nodded. "For a brief while; I'm waiting to find out how long it will hold before I need to cast it again, assuming it will take a second time around. Something tells me that _mora modum_ won't last for more than a couple of hours at the most."

Hornwood almost seemed to hesitate in his step with a sharp, surprised glance at her before resuming his stolid front. " _mora modum_ is not a common spell."

"No," Hermione replied, keeping her tone light. "No it is not, but thankfully for my patient it seems to have worked, even if it is temporarily."

The Unspeakable nodded once, almost in reverence, Draco thought.

"Have you heard of this _mora modum_ spell before?" he whispered to Elias, who shook his head.

"I haven't, although that doesn't surprise me. Our accidents generally tend to be of a more superficial nature; nothing so horrific as this since the wars, and even then they were far more in the aurors' jurisdiction than ours. Not to mention Healer Granger's prolific talents for study—I think we all see why McGonagall was so hopeful for her."

Draco hummed in thought, lost in the quiet of a temporary silence filled only by the low murmurs of the pair in front and the tapping of their shoes on the green marble floor.

"Here we are," Hornwood announced as they entered through a carved doorway and into a vaulted rotunda of the same green marble as the corridor. There were small, shimmering spots of light that hung in the air, bathing everything below in a golden light that sparked with magical energy. The tiles beneath their feet had exploded out into a white pattern that laced and veined under their feet toward the centre of the room, where an empty case stood alone.

Beyond this, on the far wall, was a window into another room next door where a team of three wizards in Unspeakable robes were surrounding what seemed to be a glowing orb. As the four of them grew closer however, taking Hornwood's lead, they saw that it was not an orb at all but a small gem—Hermione supposed that it was around the size of a matchbox—that was exuding some sort of magic that was making it glow with such force that it could have been one of the starry spheres over their heads.

"That's it; the Delhi Sapphire," confirmed Malfoy, his eyes wide. Hermione glanced at him curiously.

"Was it like this when the muggle found it?" asked Elias; he, too, was peering through the glass with great interest.

"No," answered Hornwood, his hands laced behind his back. "No, the muggle seems to have found it in the house and picked it up for a better look. That's when it activated."

"You mean it's been like this since then?" Hermione turned to the Unspeakable in surprise.

"I do."

"How can you tell that's what happened?" Malfoy inquired politely, leaning in to catch Hornwood's gaze from where he was fixing Hermione with a long, veiled look. He blinked and seemed to gather himself before answering.

"Well, we've managed to unlock one personality trait of this gem."

"Oh?"

Hornwood nodded and tapped on the glass. One of the wizards looked over and nodded at his signal, raising his wand and steeling himself. Suddenly, the stone began to twist and twirl as though in a tiny storm before dropping to lie perfectly still on the countertop below. From within, the jewel projected a vivid, purple stream of light that flickered and danced in front of them. The scene it showed was of an ancient, dusty-looking attic space. As they watched, the party saw a man in his late twenties approach and reach out towards the stone. As soon as his fingers appeared to connect with its surface, a powder flash shot across the beam and the gem in front of them fluttered and staggered back into the air to slowly rotate as it had upon their entry.

"That's him?" Malfoy asked in a hoarse whisper. Hermione looked over and noticed that he seemed to have paled even further into his blonde hair.

"I think so," she replied gently, touching his elbow and nudging him back to the present. "Are you okay?"

He nodded jerkily, his eyes fixed firmly on the revolving stone. Hermione smiled softly and looked over to Hornwood.

"Is that everything for now?"

"It is. I'll keep you updated if anything new happens and we'd appreciate it if you did the same. Any hint as to what this object does may help us break whatever curses are on it."

"Of course. I think we'd better leave you to it; my patient will need an update to his spells soon and I can't be late. Thank you, Hornwood, and let's hope we can get to the bottom of this situation fast," Hermione shook his hand gratefully and Malfoy followed suit. The Unspeakable walked them back through the labyrinthine corridors and bade them goodbye at the lift. The three of them stepped in and the golden grill shuddered shut before ascending back up to the ground floor.

"Miss Granger, always a pleasure," Elias also gave Hermione a swift, smiling handshake before turning to Malfoy and doing the same, squeezing a little as he did. "Healer Malfoy, I'm glad to have made your acquaintance. I trust that any assistance you need from the Accidents Bureau you'll find it with me?"

"Of course," Malfoy beamed, letting go as the lift came to a stop and the disembodied voice announced _Level Eight: The Atrium with access to the Floo Network (Arrivals and Departures) and Wand Registration_. "I look forward to seeing you again, Officer Thrumpton."

"As do I," Elias replied with a smile and a cheery wave as the healers stepped out onto the dark wooden floor and the grate screeched closed once more.

"Shall we? We have a luxurious—" Hermione consulted her watch. "—twelve minutes before our patient needs his next cooling charm and I have no doubt a refresher of mora modum will be needed soon after that."

"Then we absolutely should. After you," Malfoy gestured to a nearby fireplace in a gentlemanly manner.

"Why thank you," Hermione laughed. "I'll see you there."

She vanished in a flash of green flames, and Draco cast a long look around the Ministry for a moment before stepping in after her.


	7. The Suggestion

Agonised shrieks hit Draco’s ears as he stepped from the fireplace. Some way along the corridor ahead, he could see Granger already sprinting for her diagnosis wing. Casting a laundering charm on himself as he ran, he bolted out after her. Within moments, Hermione was in casting range and was already calling instructions.

“Open the door!”

A nurse hurried to obey, and before the glass had even fully slid back, Hermione was shooting colourful bursts of light into the room, surrounding the writhing patient.

“Vitals!”

“Responding as they should until moments ago!” another nurse replied. “Nothing was wrong until this!”

Hermione’s mouth set into a grim line and nodded once, definitively.

“Otterley, Frith and Lawrence, I need you to cast the cooling charm again, as one. Don’t get distracted by my casting. On three,” the three nurses nodded. “One, two, three.”

Draco watched as the soothing purple light of the _diluvium_ charm spiralled from their wands, curling around the injured man and easing his pain a little, muffling his screams to weeping cries. As it did, Hermione started to cast her _mora modum_ , the light glowing harsher and brighter from her wand this time. After some ten minutes, all four witches and wizards left the now silent and apparently sleeping patient in his room to cluster outside and discuss the goings-on in hushed voices. Hermione waved him over, and he joined the little group as they surveyed their troubled charge.

“Alright, he almost made it to the two-hour mark. That’s optimistic, but we need to track his response to the halting charm. If whatever he has reacts to it faster, we’ll know things are about to get really dire. I need him on round-the-clock observation if he wasn’t already, and I need an update if or when anything different occurs. Any concerns, let me know,” the ward healers nodded. “I’ll be in every hour or so to check the charm and to refresh where needed. In the meantime, Healer Malfoy and I are going to try and work out something more permanent. Thanks, everyone.”

The cluster dispersed as they leapt to follow instructions, setting up an observation bay and further vitals alert charms.

Draco turned to Hermione as they left the area. “I have something I want to run past you, something that I thought may help.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“While I was working in Ghana I was introduced to the uses of the palm plant—”

“Which type?” Hermione asked.

“In this case?” she nodded. “Borassus aethiopum. What are you doing?”

As he spoke, Hermione conjured up her otter patronus and sent it sprinting down the hallway, its silvery glow lingering for just a moment at the end of the corridor before vanishing through a window.

“Just getting what we need. Go on.”

“Okay,” Malfoy continued, a little distracted. “Well, there was a patient who came into the clinic and every magical remedy we could think of just seemed to refuse to work. We tried everything we could, but the man was getting worse and worse all the time.”

“What happened to him in the first place?”

“Well, it turned out that some muggle had tried to ‘curse’ him; apparently that’s something they do?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yes, they often seem to think they can see the future or other small divination things like that. Sometimes there are groups who believe they can actually curse others or heal them with magic too. Looking back on it, maybe a few of them are real witches and wizards, but that would be so risky, what with us not supposed to _exist_. Anyway, if they _aren’t_ real witches and wizards, nothing should have happened, surely?”

“That’s what we thought but this patient was clearly dying of something, so we ended up tracking down the man who had ‘cursed’ him. We sat him down and we all talked it out with a couple of liaison officers from Burkinabé. He seemed just as surprised that it had actually worked as we were, given that he wasn’t magical.”

“He wasn’t just hiding it? Or an untrained wizard?”

Draco shook his head. “Not at all, he had no idea that magic was real and had never experienced anything strange.”

Hermione hummed in thought as he continued.

“Our liaisons helped us with the Statute of Secrecy concerns over it all, and they were very useful in tracking down a family tree for him, too. It turned out that although he’d never experienced magic, his great aunt was a muggleborn witch, he’d just never known. We consulted with a couple of magical theorists and they posited that the ‘curse’—although it couldn’t be real magic as it wasn’t cast by a wizard—could have more magical weight to it because there was some shadow of magic remaining in his blood.”

“What?” Hermione interjected, her eyes wide. He nodded, carrying on.

“Because it seemed to be a sort of half-magic, it wasn’t so easy to remove through magical means, which at least explained why none of our treatments were getting through to the curse. Instead, we turned to the traditional ways of African medicine; there was an old healer at the clinic, the only one who remembered uses for plants outside their normal status as typical potion ingredients. Instead, she and I sat up all night decocting the root of this particular palm tree. By the morning, we had our patient drink it and it did the trick; it reversed whatever strange strain of magic it was that this semi-curse had inflicted on him. Then all it took was a couple of run-of-the-mill healing charms and he was good as new.”

The two of them had been winding their way through the hospital corridors as Draco had been talking, and Hermione stopped now, staring at him.

“I’ve never even heard of a relative of a muggleborn being able to cast semi-curses. Or even semi-curses themselves! That’s bizarre. Setting aside the need to ask you far more questions than we have time for, do you think it could help our patient?”

Draco smiled and paused, gazing out of the window at the busy London street below.

“I think it’s worth a try. It was, as you say, bizarre enough to happen once. Whoever cursed the Sapphire of Delhi clearly wasn’t bloodless or feeble in their attempt to harm, so it’s not unreasonable that they’d go unconventional to make sure nobody could remove the curses. At this point, what do we have to lose?”

“A patient,” Hermione replied grimly, following his watching eyes. “But I think you’re right. Since he came in nothing has occurred to me to even start helping him, at least no more than I already have. None of our usual tricks to identify spells and enchantments have turned anything up yet, and now we’re on to the truly outlandish suggestions curse-wise.”

Draco turned to her then, studying her face intently. “So?”

She met his eyes and released a long breath. “Let’s do it.”


	8. The Friend

The old, heavy oak door opened with a deep _thunk_ and a familiar face appeared behind it.

“Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy!”

“Good afternoon, Professor!” Hermione grinned.

Minerva McGonagall beamed to see two of her most talented students on the doorstep of Hogwarts once more. _And for once_ , she thought, concealing her smaller, more secretive smile as she allowed them through, _not with a burning hatred in their hearts anymore_. Closing the door swiftly behind them to keep out the sudden autumn chill, she whisked around to face them.

“Good afternoon to you both. I understand you’re not here to see me, however?” she asked, peering over her glasses at them in mock disappointment.

“Sorry, Professor, but no,” Hermione replied abashedly.

“Although it is a delight to see you,” added Malfoy quickly, employing a disarming smile that Hermione had never seen him use before. She thought perhaps it could be straining some unexercised muscles, but it seemed so natural as she watched his interaction with their former teacher.

“Oh, Mr. Malfoy, there’s no need to concern yourself with my feelings, though I thank you,” she turned to him and clasped his arms. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I was at the trial, you know,” she was using a stern tone so laced with a caring, warm undercurrent that Hermione wondered whether she ought to be listening. “You were a child, and I was honoured to watch you grow into a man when you finally became free enough to do so, even from afar.”

A small silence came over the three of them, and Draco reached his hands to hold McGonagall’s tightly, giving them a small squeeze. The headmistress kept her eyes on his as they filled with tears, which he promptly blinked away.

“Thank you, Professor,” he whispered, so quietly that it was lost almost immediately to the vast entrance hall. She squeezed his hands back before releasing him with a kind smile.

“Please, both of you, I think we’ve all grown up quite enough to allow you to call me Minerva. Ah,” she added, something catching her eye at the top of the staircase. “He arrives at last!”

“Sorry, Minerva! Toby Pardew was having an incident with a mandrake and Evie Sprout,” he called, pulling a face. “Hermione! Malfoy! I was surprised to hear you were stopping by but it’s so great you’re here!”

“Hey, Neville!” Hermione exclaimed, hugging him as he reached their little group. “Thanks for seeing us so soon, it’s a pretty serious matter.”

“I thought it might be. No offence, but patronuses from you always tend to carry urgency and bad news,” he said with a small smile and gesturing back upstairs. “Shall we, then?”

Hermione nodded, and she and Malfoy bade a fond goodbye to Minerva before following him swiftly up the staircase.

“So,” Neville began, showing them both to chairs in his office and seating himself behind the desk. “How can I help?”

“Well,” Hermione began before stopping. “Actually, I think it’s better for Malfoy to explain.”

Neville raised his eyebrows just enough to show Hermione his surprise before turning to Malfoy, who nodded and began, launching into a quick summation of everything that had happened so far that morning and how he wanted to treat the patient. Neville nodded along and once he had finished, he stood.

“That makes sense, and I see where I come in. If you’ll follow me,” he said with a grin.

He placed his hand on a section of wood-panelled wall that melted away at his touch, reminding Hermione with a shudder of the Lestrange vault. What lay beyond, however, quickly rid her mind of any such painful thoughts; in front of them lay a glorious garden.

It was a medium-sized patch, perhaps two of Neville’s office put together. It was packed, however, with plants of all kinds: tropical, alpine and grasses all swayed together under a soft breeze. Neville lead them through the wall, which had now become a greenhouse door behind them, and as they walked they felt the air around them blow differing temperatures.

“The space around each plant is enchanted to be just right for it. If it prefers cold, hard ground and temperature, that is what the air, soil and light reflect. This,” Neville turned to them with an enormous smile that seemed to light up the room. “This is my life project. This is where I am, every moment I don’t have papers to mark and students to teach. Welcome,” he finished with a proud gesture.

“Wow. This is awesome! How did you manage all of this?” Malfoy asked, to the surprise of both his companions.

“Well,” Neville started, uncertainly. “I’ve invested a lot of time into each plant, every flower and bud. I take care of all of it myself and alter the charms as I need to. It’s a complex system of temperature and light filtering enchantments, and I’ve developed them all myself.”

“Wow, that’s some seriously impressive charms work,” Malfoy replied, clearly awed by Neville’s work.

“Thanks,” he responded, his cheeks flushing with pride.

“It’s incredible, Neville,” Hermione added. “Is the plant we need here?”

“Oh!” Neville exclaimed, coming back to himself. “Yes, I have a section of exposed root here, actually. This palm’s pretty tough, so it should be absolutely fine to take as much as you need.”

He showed them to the root in question and left them to it, clapping Malfoy’s shoulder as he departed.

“Who knew Longbottom—Neville—would do something like _this_ at _Hogwarts_?” Malfoy asked as he got to work, placing sections of root into a small bag Hermione held out.

“He is quite brilliant, really,” Hermione agreed, smiling gently at Malfoy’s correction. “But I think he always was, we just never had the chance to see it properly.”

“How do you mean?” Malfoy asked, casting a curious glance up at her.

“Well,” she began, shifting her weight to settle more comfortably on the tiled pathway. “He got a new wand, didn’t he?”

“Did he?”

“Yes, he lost his old one at the Ministry Battle. But that wand was his father’s, wasn’t it?” she caught a glance at Malfoy’s face and hastened on. “I mean, it was. So, when his old one was broken, he got a new one from Mr. Ollivander. After that, he seemed to come into himself,” she finished.

“In more ways than one, it seems,” Malfoy added with a smirk and Hermione glanced sternly at him. “But yes, I think you’re right. Although I had… a lot on my plate back then so I didn’t really notice, but the wand chooses the wizard, right?”

Draco overcame a small wince at his past to wave a section of palm root at her, emphasising his last few words. Hermione chuckled and hit him gently on the arm.

“Pillock. Is that enough?” she asked, shaking the bag to settle its contents.

“Yeah, I think so. If not, I’d love to chat to L—Neville some more about this whole system he has going on here, it’s fascinating,” he finished with a grin.

Hermione returned it, realising that she’d never seen such a truly happy face on him before. She supposed McGonagall was right: they really had grown up.


	9. The Decoction

On their return to the ward, the pair checked in with the patient and his care team; he seemed a lot calmer this time around, but Hermione cast _mora modum_ again nonetheless as his vitals began to spike. The patient settled, Hermione led Draco down the winding corridors to a bubbling potions laboratory.

The room itself was large, with benches placed every few feet along its length. Every time Hermione walked in, she had the nostalgic feeling that she was walking into one of her junior school’s science labs. In this lab, however, instead of Bunsen burners and gas taps, the benches were filled with beakers, test tubes and caldrons of ebullient, shimmering—and sometimes steaming—liquids.

“Hermione!” came a voice, seemingly from nowhere. Hermione looked back to grin at Draco, who looked a little bewildered; he clearly hadn’t seen any sign that anybody else was here.

“Hello, Elina,” she called. As she did, a witch with startling red hair appeared from behind a caldron at the far end of the room, who waved and made her way toward them. The two witches hugged before Elina turned to Draco, who prepared himself mentally.

“And you must be Draco Malfoy!” she exclaimed before he could say anything. Gathering him up in a bone-crushing hug, Elina murmured in his ear. “I’ve heard _so_ much about you from Hermione.”

“You have?”

“I have!” she pronounced, letting him go with a flourish.

“You have what?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, nothing. Nonetheless, I doubt this,” she continued, gesturing to Malfoy. “Is why you’re here, or at least not to introduce him to me. Properly.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, making Elina smile wider and ignore her. “Something on this patient of yours, maybe?”

“Yes, it is,” Draco replied, as apparently Hermione was keeping her mouth closed for the time being. “We—or I suppose I—need a caldron; I need to decoct this—” he held up the little bag. “—so I can try something.”

“Ooh, an experiment!” Elina squealed, taking Draco’s arm and leading him back to the caldrons. “Absolutely, my lab is at your disposal, of course! As is any help I can offer; you can use this one here if it suits.”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he smiled graciously and proceeded to set out the necessary items for the process.

Across the room, Elina had floated joyfully over to Hermione where she was still planted by the door.

“Darling, you’re making it a little obvious,” she chided gently, nudging her friend to bring her back to reality.

“Making what obvious?”

Elina said nothing, merely flicking her eyes between Hermione and Draco.

“No! Absolutely not. Just because I said that he’d changed—”

“—and that you felt a little bad for assuming anything—” Elina added, nodding sagely.

“No, I just meant that I regretted… jumping to conclusions after not seeing hide nor hair of him for a while.”

“Well, I don’t know what happened between you before and honestly I don’t want to know. It’s not good for you to dwell on whatever it was, and looking at you two now? I hear you’ve barely left each others’ sides today. If not for our earlier rendez-vous I’m afraid I’d be completely out of the loop!”

“Elina, I ran into you in the bathroom, it was hardly a rendez-vous.”

“Still, I know you’re busy but keeping this—” she gestured toward Malfoy again. “—under wraps is too much!”

“There is nothing being kept under wraps!” Hermione protested. “He works for me. As it is, I need to go and talk to Harry and Ron at some point, but I’m afraid that until we help this man I won’t get too much time.”

“Or until he dies,” added her companion thoughtfully. Hermione regarded her shrewdly for a moment before sighing and glancing down the corridor furtively for anyone who might overhear.

“Yes, or until he dies,” she agreed reluctantly, her voice down.

“Do you think you’ll manage it?”

“To save him? I hope so. Draco—Malfoy seems to think there’s a chance that this treatment could do some good work.”

“And you think he could be on to something? You trust him?”

“I wouldn’t if I didn’t know he’d been working as a healer the whole time he was away. He clearly knows differing medicine to mine, and I honestly think that could be good for the department. However much it pains me that it’s him bringing it to the table,” she added for good measure, watching Elina observe Malfoy. Elina half-hummed in consideration, leaning on the nearest bench while she watched him.

Half an hour later, in which both Hermione and Elina assisted however they could, the two healers bade goodbye to the potioneer and were reverently carrying the decoction back to the diagnosis ward.

“Healer Granger,” one of the team greeted her as he looked up from his desk.

“Lawrence, how’s he doing?”

“Since you refreshed him, not a lot of change. Usual fluctuations, but nothing the charms can’t cover.”

Hermione nodded. “We’re going to try something, but I may need your assistance if anything untoward happens. Not—” she added to Draco. “—that I’m expecting anything to, but we don’t know how he’ll react.”

“I know, I get it,” he answered with a vague smile.

Hermione studied him briefly and nodded, knowing that now wasn’t the time for any qualms. “Let’s go.”

The three healers made their way into the patient’s room, and Hermione went at once to his head. The man’s eyes fluttered open as she touched his hand gently, and immediately she could see the pain etched deep inside them.

“Sir, we’re going to try something, okay? It might taste a bit iffy, but I can’t risk tampering with it for comfort I’m afraid.”

The man released a noise from his throat, but it sounded more positive than a scream.

“Can you blink three times if you’re alright to proceed? I’m sorry, I just need to get confirmation. I know it’s unbearable.”

He blinked three times rapidly, and she nodded to Draco.

“Sir, my name is Healer Malfoy. I’m just going to numb you again so we can get you into a position to drink this, alright?”

The man made the same noise again, and Draco and Hermione glanced at each other before casting numbing and cooling charms again. Lawrence and Hermione adjusted the man and Malfoy gently poured the brown liquid into his mouth. After some large amount of coaxing, they managed to get him to swallow the decoction. The patient’s eyes found Hermione’s, and she raised her wand again.

“You said healing charms as well?”

“I did,” Malfoy replied.

“Alright.”

The light from Hermione’s wand lit the whole room, the strong, powerful light of her charms wrapping themselves around the patient again. As she finished, the spells vanished.

“Sir?” Malfoy asked tentatively.


End file.
